


Accidents Happen

by lionessvalenti



Category: White Collar
Genre: Community: collarkink, Multi, Pre-Slash, Pre-Threesome, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-16
Updated: 2010-12-16
Packaged: 2017-10-13 16:58:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/139553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionessvalenti/pseuds/lionessvalenti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal has to go during a stakeout.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Accidents Happen

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this collarkink prompt](http://community.livejournal.com/collarkink/1404.html?thread=2217852#t2217852) I even used the title. Thanks to Lefaym for beta-ing!

Neal awoke with a start. He'd only dozed off for a minute, or at least that's what it felt like. He looked around, taking in his surroundings. In Peter's car, Lower East Side, on a stakeout. That's right. He rubbed his eyes and looked over at Peter.

"Why'd you let me sleep?"

Peter glanced at him. "And listen to you complain? I was able to eat a sandwich and listen to the game without comment."

Neal snickered. "I guess nothing interesting happened."

"Nope. Not in either the game or the surveillance." Peter sighed and turned off the radio.

"We may have to rely on conversation," Neal said, rolling his eyes. He shifted in his seat, realizing that he had to use the bathroom, rather urgently. He looked around at the nearby businesses. There was a restaurant that looked promising at allowing him to use their restroom. Places with hosts (and especially hostesses) were always a good call for him.

"Anything but that," Peter replied dryly, with a bit of a smile. He looked around at the building they were surveying. "They're probably going to show up in the next couple of hours. It's still early."

Neal sighed, keeping it quiet. He knew he'd get comments if he sounded too bored. It wasn't worth it if they were going to be sitting there for a few more hours. He opened his mouth to mention that he was going to use the bathroom (fearing somewhat that Peter was going to hand him a cup or a bottle and tell him to go ahead) when Peter sat up straighter in his seat.

"Is that York?" he asked. He reached into the console between the seats and retrieved a pair of binoculars. "That's him -- and that's Danvers with him."

Discreetly, Neal adjusted himself. "Are we going to go after them?"

"Yeah." Peter grabbed the keys out of the ignition. "You stay behind me."

He really didn't have to tell Neal that; Neal wasn't going to get caught in the crossfire unarmed. He got out of the car and started following Peter across the street and -- oh god. He almost stopped in the middle of the street to grab a hold of his crotch. it was something similar to the sensation of having to go more as you get closer to the toilet, except he had to be sprinting and there was no relief in the immediate future.

As they neared the building, Neal fell back. He stood at the street corner as Peter went ahead and peered into the windows, paying no attention to whether or not Neal was behind him.

Neal wondered if Peter would notice he slipped off completely, just long enough to pee. Peter was wrapped up in whatever was going on inside, he wouldn't care. Well, he would care that Neal walked away without saying anything, but this was verging on an emergency.

With sudden horror, Neal was struck with a memory of a school field trip when he was seven. He hadn't gone before they left to go back to the school at the end of the day and by the middle of the trip, he had to pee so badly. There was a rest stop break coming up, the teacher told him over and over again, but it wasn't any comfort. Neal had begun crying as the pain was so overwhelming, and finally he couldn't hold it any longer and wet himself. His seat mate (a boy named Greg, who probably didn't remember this at all, or at least not as clearly as Neal did) began shouting that Neal was peeing and he wanted to move and how disgusting it was.

Neal swallowed and was about to take a step toward a coffee shop that was two doors down from the building where York and Danvers were when Peter turned toward him, and motioned for him to come closer.

Every step was agony. It was as though Neal could feel all the liquid in his bladder sloshing around, even if he knew that was ridiculous.

"They're making the deal right here," Peter said in a low voice. He did a double take at Neal and asked, "You okay?"

Neal nodded, briefly wondering what sort of horrible face he was making to raise Peter's concern. He peered in the window, just to see York and Danvers leave and into the next room, out of sight.

"Damn it," Peter muttered.

"I guess we can't go in after them," Neal said.

Peter shook his head. "Not without a warrant. But now we know for fact that York was lying when he said he'd never seen Danvers before. We'll figure it out." He sighed and took a step back. "We can wait for them to come back out, but that's the best we're going to get tonight."

"Are we going to hang and wait for them?" Neal asked, as he took the first painful step back to the car.

Peter nodded. "Who knows who else may show up. We should stay until the deal is done."

"Great." Neal looked over his shoulder at the coffee shop. "Hey, Peter, I'm going to--" He cut himself off as he lurched forward, crossing his legs. He leaned a hand against a car parked on the street. He was grateful it didn't have an alarm.

"What's the matter?" Peter placed a hand on Neal's shoulder. "Neal?"

"I really need to--" Neal grimaced as people walked past them. "I've got to pee," he said finally in a big breath.

"Oh." To his credit, Peter didn't laugh or ask him why he didn't mention it sooner. But then again, everyone had been there at some point, needing to go that badly. He looked around. "You think you can make it to the coffee shop up there?"

Neal nodded. He was going to have to. Slowly, he uncrossed his legs and took a small step forward, still holding onto the car, but as soon as he moved, the floodgates opened and he couldn't hold it back anymore. It was pain and it was relief as the urine began soaking through his underwear and his trousers (oh, god, sending this to the dry cleaners). He leaned against the car, trying to to hide it from Peter, but of course he knew. A puddle began to form around Neal's feet. He could feel the wetness clinging to the inside of his pants, rubbing against his leg.

Distantly, Neal could hear Greg's voice in his mind, calling him disgusting, and out of nowhere, Neal felt his eyes well up with tears. He tried to breathe, but it came out as a sob. As if he couldn't be more embarrassed. People passed them by, and it didn't matter if they noticed or not, it felt like they were all talking about him. The man wetting his pants on the street.

"It's okay," Peter said quietly, sounding somewhat awkward, and that was when Neal realized that Peter still had a hand on his shoulder.

Neal looked down at the gutter, at the cigarette butts and a dirty candy bar wrapper, and his urine was beginning to spill over the edge of the sidewalk. He took a deep, ragged breath as he felt the stream taper off, but he stood still. He wanted to make sure it was over before he moved.

Red faced, Neal lifted his head, but he couldn't look at Peter. He couldn't stand to see the respect fading from Peter's eyes. Their friendship may be tentative at times, and their trust for each other was constantly shifting, but there had always been mutual respect. Now, Neal, brilliant art thief and master forger had just pissed himself on the street. There was no way Peter, or anyone, could respect him after that.

"I'm done," Neal said. He reached up and wiped his face, brushing away the few stray tears that had made their way out. "Can you take me home?"

"Yeah, o'course," Peter said. He paused, then added, "We could probably get to my house faster. I have clothes you can wear."

Neal considered his options. There was only a chance he would run into June (and possibly Mozzie) at his home, and he could get out of this without anyone else knowing, or go back to Peter's and having Elizabeth _definitely_ know. Then again, Peter would probably tell her anyway, unless Neal asked him not to.

"That works," Neal said, still looking down.

Peter dropped his hand from Neal's shoulder as they started back across the street. Neal's socks felt heavy as he realized he'd soaked them as well as his pants. He glanced up and the car was only a few steps away.

The car, Neal realized with a frown. He would ruin the seats, and he probably stank. He glanced up at Peter and asked, "You wouldn't have towels or something to put down on the seats?"

Peter shook his head. "No... well, there might be a slicker in the trunk. I'll check."

While Peter dug around in the trunk, Neal stood off to the side, hunched over, as if no one could spot the wetness on the front of his trousers and the dark streaks down the inside of his pants legs that way.

"Here we go," Peter said, retrieving a blue raincoat out of the trunk. He set it down on the passenger seat and stepped back. "That'll do."

"Thanks," Neal muttered, climbing into the car. When Peter started the car, Neal rolled down the window halfway. It was a little too cold to have the window down, but he didn't want the smell (it was all he could smell) to stink up the entire car.

The drive to Brooklyn was made in silence. At once point, Peter turned on the radio, and that made it bearable. They were nearly to Peter's house when Neal turned to him.

"I guess there's no way getting around telling Elizabeth about this."

Peter shook his head. "I don't have to tell her, but she might suspect something when you leave wearing my pants."

Neal actually cracked a smile. "Probably, yeah."

"Believe me, Neal, she won't laugh. It's happened to the best of us."

"Has this happened to you in your adult life?" Neal asked.

"Well... no."

"That's what I thought."

Peter didn't reply right away. He found an open parking spot almost right across the street from the house. "You'll forget it even happened in a week," he said, finally.

Neal shook his head. He hadn't forgotten about the incident on the bus and that was twenty-five years ago. "You won't tell anyone else, will you?"

"Of course not," Peter said. He sounded insulted. "I would think you'd know that I have no interest in publicly humiliating you, Neal. I think you've had more than enough of that tonight as it is. You don't need me to add to it."

"Thank you," Neal replied softly. He got out of the car and followed Peter across the street to the house. His pants felt stiff and cold, and he could feel the inside of his thighs chafing against the wool. As much as he was dreading going inside and letting anyone else know this had happened, he was looking forward to a shower and changing his clothes.

"Go on up," Peter said, motioning to the stairs once they were inside. "The towels are in the cabinet next to the sink. I'll get you something to wear in a minute."

Neal nodded his thanks and started up the stairs. He felt a pang of shame with every step. It was a new sensation; Neal wasn't used to feeling ashamed of anything. But his sense of pride was based on his accomplishments. This wasn't just a failure, it was an embarrassment. He was a grown man wearing urine-soaked clothes. There wasn't getting past that feeling.

In the bathroom, he stripped out of his clothing and folded them up, placing them on the small amount of counter space. He was sure Peter and Elizabeth would have a dry cleaning bag somewhere they could give him.

Neal turned on the water and stepped under the spray, pulling the shower curtain closed the entire way. He inspected the soap options: a green bar of Zest and a pale pink bottle of body wash. It was pretty obvious whose soap was whose. He picked up the body wash and opened it, sniffing it. It was vaguely fruity, but not too sweet.

As he washed with the soap out of the bottle, he heard the door open and there was some rustling. He didn't want to pull back the curtain, even enough to poke his head out, but paused to listen.

"Come on downstairs when you're done," Peter said, and before Neal could reply, the door closed again.

Neal quickly finished showering (taking the time to clean thoroughly around and under his tracker) and opened the curtain to grab a towel. He looked over at the counter and saw that his clothes were gone, replaced by a tee shirt and a pair of grey sweats.

He pulled on the provided clothing. They were baggy, but the pants had a handy drawstring, and most importantly, they were clean. He took a deep breath, relieved that he no longer smelled of urine. Now he smelled like Elizabeth's soap and Peter's clothes. It was a nice combination.

He dropped his towel in the wicker hamper and went downstairs. He felt hyper-aware of his bare feet and the wooden floors cold against his skin.

"Hey, Neal," Elizabeth said, when he was halfway down the stairs. She and Peter were sitting together on the couch, his arm around her shoulders. Peter had loosened his tie, and taken off his holster (Neal spotted it hanging off one of the dining room chairs). Neal felt a bit like he was imposing.

"Hey," he said, flashing her a smile as he sat down in the chair across from them. "Uh, where did my clothes go?" He didn't want them have to deal with the clothes he'd soiled.

"I tossed your socks and underwear in the wash," Elizabeth said, sounding casual, but it wasn't fake or forced. "I needed to do a load anyway. Your suit and shirt are in a bag, you can take them with you when you leave."

"You shouldn't have," Neal said quickly.

She waved him off. "It's not a problem. I thought you might like to have those things to wear when you go home."

He smiled gratefully. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. And if you want, Neal, you can stay the night. It's already late and it'll probably be close to an hour before your laundry's done."

Neal glanced at Peter, who nodded at him. They must have been talking about this while Neal was in the shower. "Thank you," he said again.

Peter shifted, unwrapping his arm from around Elizabeth as he sat forward. "Neal, about--"

"Can we not talk about what happened?" Neal asked. "I'd really rather forget about it. And I know you'd probably rather not have this conversation either."

Looking visibly relieved, Peter sat back wordlessly, but Elizabeth nudged him in the ribs with her elbow. Peter coughed and said, "I just wanted to say that this doesn't change anything."

Neal blinked at him. He wasn't entirely sure what that meant, but whatever it was, it sounded all right. "Okay."

"Good." Peter nodded.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. Neal could practically see her exasperatedly thinking _men_. But instead of forcing them to communicate, she stood up. "Would you like something to eat, Neal? There's some leftover chicken salad."

He shook his head. "No, thank you. I'm just going to head upstairs. Get some rest." _And get away from this awkwardness_ , he added to himself.

"Okay," she said. "If you want anything, though, you help yourself."

"Thanks," Neal said, feeling like that's all he'd been saying for the last few minutes. "If you'll excuse me... good night." He got up from the chair and headed upstairs, retreating into the guest room.

There was a small bookshelf across from the bed, and Neal looked over it, trying to find something that would pass the time without stressing his mind too much. The books ranged from trashy romances to classic literature. He imagined that it was Elizabeth's personal stash of books. He selected a paperback young adult novel with a seventy-five cent thrift store sticker still on the cover.

He flopped onto the bed and started reading. He was about halfway through it, when there was a knock at the door.

Neal looked up. "Yeah?"

The door opened slowly and Peter stood there. He had changed out of his suit and was wearing sweats, much like what he had given Neal. He didn't say anything right away, his brow furrowed in the way it did when he was putting the pieces together on a case.

"If Elizabeth sent you to talk to me," Neal said, trying to save Peter the agony, "there isn't anything to talk about. I think we've exhausted the subject."

"No, we haven't," Peter replied. He took a step into the room. "Neal, I don't really know how to say what I want to."

Neal closed the book on his thumb and sat up. "I can say it for you. You saw a moment of humiliating weakness and while you're not going to share it with anyone else -- which I appreciate -- you can't look at me the same way. You're not going to be able to quite respect me anymore. I get that."

Peter shook his head. "No. That's not what I was going to say at all. Yes, things got weirdly personal tonight, but I'm not going to stop respecting you for something you couldn't control. Though you could have mentioned it sooner that you had to go."

"I was going to, and then York showed up. The job is more important than whether or not I have to use the bathroom." Neal sighed. "And I didn't realize it was that going to be that bad so soon. I think it was from where I had napped. It came on suddenly."

Peter nodded and took a deep breath. He eyed Neal. "Did you use Elizabeth's soap?"

"Oh." Neal chuckled. "Yeah. It's not my usual scent, but it works."

"Smells good," Peter said.

"You would think so," Neal replied with laugh.

Peter smiled. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay," he said, as though the levity made him able to say what he wanted to.

Neal nodded. "I'm fine."

"Good. We'll get up early tomorrow and run you up to June's before going into the office."

"Thank you, Peter. Really. You've gone above and beyond tonight."

Peter looked flattered. He shrugged. "What are friends for? Night, Neal."

Neal smiled. "Good night."

After Peter left the room, closing the door behind him, Neal turned over onto his back, holding the book to his chest. Peter had been right all along. He really did have people who care about him.

That was good to know.


End file.
